You Make My Dreams
by littlebluebirdie
Summary: Jace Herondale is an asshat. A wild boar with an ego the size of a literal wild boar. A self-absorbed snake. And Clary might have been infatuated with him since middle school, but after their bizarre encounter on her sixteenth birthday, she's changed her mind. Except, maybe not entirely, and now she can't decide if she wants to slap him or jump his bones. Maybe both. Human AU.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Loosely inspired by the movie _16_ _Candles._ Leave a review if you like :)

* * *

 _What I want, you got_

 _And it might be hard to handle_

 _But like the flame that burns the candle_

 _The candle feeds the flame_

-"You Make My Dreams" by Hall & Oates

* * *

Really, she should've known the day would turn out terrible. After all, days don't usually go so well when they start with you waking up with abundant amounts of hair sticking up in different directions and the distinct feeling that something has _died_ in your _mouth_. Leave it to Clary Fray to remain hopeful that her sixteenth birthday wouldn't turn out like that disturbing cake Izzy had attempted to bake her last year, all soggy and sad, lying limp in the pan like one of those underwater sponges.

That's what her sixteenth birthday had been. A soggy, underwater sponge cake.

Clary sighed loudly, disturbing a ginger curl in front of her face. Birthdays were never all that fun for Clary anyway. They just happened to be especially not fun when your parents forgot them. Or when you spend the majority of 1st period sitting in a stall, painted a grotesque chartreuse, staring at the wall and trying not to sob because wow, they forgot, and that sucks.

And there she was, sitting in English thinking about how depressing her life was like some gloom-trodden emo, while arguably the most attractive male in the school sat behind her, tapping his fingers and staring at the wall.

Jace Herondale would probably never notice her, and she'd really accepted that fact a while ago, but it just seemed so much worse in the new light that no one else apparently noticed her either. Even her parents.

Another defeated sigh came from her mouth and Isabelle Lightwood turned to stare at her, black eyes narrowing in an accusation.

"Clary," she hissed quietly, leaning toward her friend's desk. "Stop with the sighing. It's fucking depressing. And annoying."

Clary turned to Izzy, mumbling, "Sorry, long morning I guess."

She sighed.

Izzy rolled her eyes good naturedly. "Here," she thrust a battered sheet of notebook paper in Clary's direction. "This'll cheer you up." Isabelle winked.

Clary looked upon the wrinkled paper with hesitancy. The words _Sex Quiz_ were scribbled hastily at the top of the paper, and following this original name were several personal questions.

She turned toward her friend. "I'm not filling this out. It's ridiculous."

Isabelle grinned, revealing perfectly straight teeth. Sometimes Izzy was so perfect it was frustrating to be around her. If one spent all their time with a leggy, dark-haired beauty while resembling a gnome more closely than a human, it was difficult to forget one's status as aforementioned gnome.

"It's for your amusement, dumbass. I mean, who made this? What is this, the 80s? Dear God."

Clary wrinkled her nose as she came across the poetically phrased _, Have you ever done it in the ass? Would you do it in the ass if you could?_

"It's very classy."

Isabelle snorted. She flipped some of her long black hair behind her and many a teenage boy looked up to stare. "'Bout as classy as doggy style."

At this point in their friendship, Clary had pretty much learned to ignore Izzy's crude observations and unnecessary comments. However, seeing as this particular observation was said in anything but a whisper, she looked about the class, attempting to discern if anyone had heard Isabelle's comment, when a pair of gold eyes found her green ones. She stared.

Jace Herondale was a bit of a catch. It was the general consensus from most of the Institute that not only did he have a "rockin bod" as Eric would say, but one sexy pair of eyeballs, which not all people could boast.

But Clary could absolutely put to rest any rumors that they weren't quite as mesmerizing in person because at that moment, they were trained on her.

His lip twitched upward into a lazy smirk as he stared at her unabashedly from four seats away while she blinked slowly, trying to grasp that Jace Herondale was staring at her and she was staring at him and they were having an odd moment of intense eye contact and honesty, it was kind of erotic.

Clary felt her cheeks heating up, his smirk only intensifying, and she abruptly turned away from him, blushing furiously and feeling somewhat annoyed that he had looked so smug. She chanced a quick glance back at him and he lifted one hand in a little wave, his smirk now a full blown grin.

She wrenched her entire body back around to stare at the whiteboard at the front of the class with growing horror.

"Clary." Isabelle narrowed her eyes. "Please tell me you weren't just making sexual eye contact with my cousin."

"No," she hissed. "No—gah—that wasn't sexual eye contact. That was—I dunno—he was just staring at me, like I'm some sort of seal-human mutation, but also kind of like he wanted to eat me? Does that make sense?"

Izzy turned around to glare at her cousin, who was grinning and looking far too pleased with himself, before looking at an extraordinarily pink Clary once more.

"You guys made weird sexual eye contact. Just admit it—oh my God, you don't still have a crush on him, do you? That was middle school, babe, you don't want to go down that path. Trust me."

"Isabelle shut up!"

Thankfully for Clary, the bell rang and she had time to wrench her and her traitorous friend into the hallway where no one could hear her sad pity story about being into a guy who was pretty much sex on legs, while she hobbled about with her gnarled gnome feet.

"Yes," she whispered adamantly as she tugged Isabelle down the hallway, which must have looked quite comical considering their vast height difference. "I'm completely over that small, um, infatuation. In fact, I wouldn't even call it that because I liked him for about five seconds before he opened his stupid mouth and ruined it with that joke about Simon, and you know how I get about Simon. How could I like him after that?"

How indeed?

Clary was hardly fooling herself with her bizarre rant about how much she did _not_ care about Jace Herondale. _At all._

But she really did, so much so it was kind of embarrassing. Alas, this was something she had sworn she would keep under wraps because he was still kind of a tool and it would crush Simon to know that all their talk of publicly embarrassing him and videotaping it was just Clary covering her sorry ass.

In reality, Clary thought Jace was sweet. Through all the sarcasm and dry humor, there was a kind boy who had stood by Alec's side when he came out as gay, offered her his bus money when she'd been short after staying late for an art class that ended the same time as his soccer practice.

Jace Herondale was sweet, and despite unnecessary comments aimed at Simon's band—who, if she was being honest, probably needed a little work—Clary was smitten.

"So you don't mind that he's slutting up a storm with Aline Penhallow?"

" _He is?"_

"I knew it! You're still into him! And of course he's not, she's lesbian, Clary, get with the times."

Clary flushed. "Oh… right."

They had reached their lockers and Clary was quickly realizing that it would be harder to convince Isabelle of her indifference than initially expected. Not that it would be the end of the world if she knew of Clary's… fondness for her cousin, just that they were close and if Isabelle knew than that meant that Jace would know within the hour. At this point, that was probably the worst thing she could think of.

"Isabelle, seriously, I don't like him."

Isabelle quirked a beautifully shaped black eyebrow displaying her obvious disbelief, and Clary was just a little jealous because she'd never been able to raise one eyebrow. In fact, she couldn't even wink.

"I like someone else." Feeling desperate, her eyes traveled down the hallway toward a group of lacrosse players. None of them were really bad looking, especially the guy leaning against the locker, black hair in a nice quaff, classically handsome. Really he wasn't half-bad. "That guy," she said pointing at said lacrosse player. His name was on the tip of her tongue, what was it again? Something to do with _The Little Mermaid_?

"Sebastian Verlac?" Isabelle asked, swiveling to look at the boy.

"Yes!" Clary exclaimed, but then schooled her expression, trying to look as if she had already known this. "He's got the nicest—clavicles."

This wrenched Isabelle's gaze from Sebastian, who she was currently unabashedly checking out. "Bet he's got a nice dick too."

Clary's cheeks matched her hair. "That's not why I like him!" However, considering she'd never talked to the guy, she didn't know why else she would. "He's… sensitive," she croaked.

Isabelle's eyebrows were up into her hairline, staring at her friend as if she'd just expressed her desire to become a professional stripper clown. "Sebastian Verlac is sensitive? Clary, have you met the guy? He's a douche."

Both of them were now looking at him, perhaps a little too obviously because the object of their gaze soon saw them— or more specifically, saw Clary. He smirked at her, and Clary could very clearly see what Isabelle had been talking about. He looked arrogant, probably because he was handsome enough to _know_ he was handsome but not quite smart enough to realize the whole world didn't need to know it too.

He caught her eye, and she was surprised to find his eyes were black, weirdly reminding her of a bottomless pit and she was suddenly beyond creeped out. Clary was quick to look away, but not before receiving a smirk as he raised his eyebrows knowingly.

"He's looking over here, Clary!" Isabelle exclaimed, tugging at Clary's elbow while she flashed a dazzling smile at Verlac to make up or Clary's lack of enthusiasm.

"Yay," she said, trying to sound enthused.

It wasn't that he was unattractive, quite the opposite actually, but more so that he gave off a generally creepy vibe. He also had beef with Jonathan that she'd only just remembered. It was probably just lacrosse drama, but Jon had said he had a dark sense of humor and insisted she shouldn't hang out with him.

Sebastian was making his way over to them, and very much not wanting to talk to him, Clary grabbed at Isabelle's arm.

"Isabelle," she hissed, searching for an escape route. "I've changed my mind. His clavicles aren't that nice."

"But you just said—"

Clary tugged them down the hallway, heart racing because this guy was _weird_ and she needed to remove herself ASAP and then suddenly— _ooph._ She had collided into something solid, but very warm. Two hands came to rest on her shoulders and they pulled her back slightly. Before she knew it, she was looking into pools of gold.

"Hey, didn't see you there."

Jace was smiling at her, but in a different way from their eye contact from that morning. He wasn't smirking as he had been earlier, but he was smiling in a pleasant way, like he couldn't be happier to see her.

"Yeah—um, I should've been watching where I was going. Sorry." Her voice sounded painfully awkward to her own ears, but he didn't look like he minded.

His smile widened. "Don't worry about it."

He was even nicer to look at up close. Everything about him seemed sharper when she was so near his face and it made her breath hitch in a stupid sort of way. His eyelashes seemed longer when he blinked at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. If she was just a little bit closer, she would be able to lean her head against his collarbone and touch the skin that peeked out from the edge of his black t-shirt and—

"Yeah, well, maybe I need to worry about it because you almost killed us. So, thanks for that," an annoyed voice said from her right, and Clary was reminded that they weren't alone in this hallway. Isabelle stood next to her, arms crossed, glaring at Jace and tapping her foot impatiently.

Jace grinned, his smile turning from sweet to arrogant. He dropped his hands from Clary's shoulders, but stayed just close enough to stir her hair with his breath when he said, "Sorry Izzy, I just can't keep the ladies away. They want me."

Clary's eyebrows puckered as she frowned. He sounded both arrogant and presumptuous, and feeling quite done with male ego, she snapped, "I didn't run into you because I 'want you.' I ran into you on accident, just like I said earlier."

He looked smug, and huh, she was just realizing that was his natural facial expression. "Likely story, Ginger."

Her frown deepened and she was probably making her angry frog expression, as Simon called it, but she didn't really care. "Listen here, buddy," she said, jabbing a finger into his chest. "I don't make a habit of bumping into random people— _on purpose_ —simply to grab their attention. I have a better way to do that. It's this new thing called 'language.' You know, _words._ Maybe you should try it some time."

Looking both shocked and delighted at her response, Jace put his hands up in mock surrender. "I didn't mean any offense. It's just that, given your size, I assumed most people of a normal height might have trouble hearing these 'words.'"

Izzy, grinning, muttered to herself, "Low blow."

Clary scowled, both at Jace and her friend's terrible pun. "I suppose you would know. Is it hard fitting under doorways with that large head of yours?"

His eyes were growing darker, his expression smug and sexy. He tilted his head in her direction, voice pitched down an octave. It made her throat feel dry and her cheeks heat up. "Well, you know what they say about guys with big heads—or is that big hands?"

"I suppose you wouldn't know."

"Wanna find out?"

"Maybe I do."

"Maybe you should."

Her voice hitched in her throat. "Fine."

Jace wasn't smiling anymore, his mouth parted as he breathed in sharply. "Fine."

Isabelle, looking slightly nauseated and annoyed at having been so clearly forgotten, grabbed Clary's arm and began to steer her away from the conversation. "Clary is suddenly ill," Isabelle said in a bored tone. "We'll just be on our way. Bye-bye Jace."

Jace, eyes still gleaming in the aftermath of their sexually charged verbal tennis match, smirked. "That's alright, I was just leaving anyhow. Gotta hit the books and all that." He reached out to brush a strand of red hair behind Clary's ear, who was still glowing red with anger and embarrassment.

"This was fun, Ginger," he breathed, leaning in just a little too close. "Get better soon."

He was off in the next second, walking with a kind of casual arrogance towards the exit at the end of the building.

As if waking from a dream, Clary shook her head back and forth a little. She felt both dirty and vaguely turned on, and in this haze of confusion, turned to Isabelle to ask, "What was that?" She stared at the wall, seemingly dumbfounded. "Did he just come onto me?"

Shaking her head in disbelief, Isabelle grabbed Clary's hand and proceeded to march in the opposite direction that Jace had gone in.

"If you two start fucking, I swear to God—"

Huh. Maybe birthday wishes did come true.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: So this is now a multi-chaptered fic! I'm not sure how often I'll actually be able to update, but I'll try my best to keep up to date. Also, thank you for the reviews from last chapter! You're so kind :). I hope y'all enjoy this one.

* * *

 _Don't, don't you want me?_

 _You know I can't believe it when I hear that you won't see me_

 _Don't, don't you want me?_

 _You know I don't believe you when you say that you don't need me_

-"Don't You Want Me" by the Human League

* * *

By the end of school, Clary was more focused on avoiding Sebastian Verlac than her exchange with Jace from earlier that day. Yes, he'd made some suggestive comments, did that mean anything? No. Or—she really wasn't sure what it meant. One moment they had been discussing his poor attitude and the next it wasn't his attitude they were talking about.

It was his penis.

Yet, in between 1st period and 6th period, she'd had another class with Jace, pottery to be specific. Unsurprisingly, he'd managed to piss her off enough to pop whatever bubble of disillusionment she'd been residing in since she'd first come to the misguided conclusion that he was a simply a sarcastic boy with a good heart.

She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting after their interaction during passing period, but it wasn't the silent treatment. He'd shown up to the class, as smug as ever, and walked by Clary's desk without so much as a glance in her direction. It wasn't like they'd shared a romantic stroll in the moonlight or anything, but there had been some heavy implications and didn't that count for something?

Apparently, it did not.

"No, Kaelie, it's like this," Jace said, standing behind Kaelie Whitewillow, a small, pixie-like girl in their same year. He covered her hands with his on the pottery wheel, and Clary could see her eyes practically rolling back into her head. "You can't be afraid to get messy. You have to feel the wet clay, let your body shape—"

"Thank you, Mr. Herondale," interrupted Ms. Graymark in a clipped voice, her mouth set in a stern line- or, more of a stern line than usual. "I can take it from here."

Jace stepped back, while Kaelie remained seated, her expression dazed while the wheel continued to spin around in little circles. "Only trying to help, Ms. Graymark" he said, completely straight-faced.

Ms. Graymark gave him a tight lipped smile, thanking him for his "contribution to the classroom" while Clary refrained from puking as she caught sight of Kaelie's limp, almost orgasmic smile. She'd never liked her.

After that bit of entertainment, Clary was mostly angry. Angry because not only had he bumped into her in the hallway and been a jerk about it, but directly after that he'd gone and been all flirty and sexy and confusing. Now, he was right back to ignoring her existence all together and flirting with Kaelie Whitewillow, all the while sending her cryptic glances and little smirks that left her feeling like she'd run the Boston Marathon naked while he whispered dirty nonsense in her ear.

She was angry because before all of that, she'd _liked_ him. She'd been infatuated. She thought he was "sweet" for fucks sake! He wasn't sweet, he was an asshat. A wild boar with an ego the size of a literal wild boar. A self absorbed snake. Clary was done with Jace Herondale. Done, in fact, with men entirely. And her failed attempts to convey to Sebastian what a hint was and how he could take one and shove it up his ass didn't seem to help matters either.

Sebastian had been sitting behind her in History, tapping his foot against her chair and humming. Faintly, she could hear him quietly humming to the tune of "Don't You Want Me."

The bell signaling the end of school rang and Clary hurried out of her seat, stooping to stuff her notebook and pen in her messenger bag.

"I saw that little display with Herondale earlier," a deep voice said from behind her. She stood up and there was Sebastian, casually leaning against a desk.

"You could do so much better, Clary," he said, and it surprised her that he even knew her name. She slung her bag over her shoulder and offered up a weak smile.

"Thanks?"

He stared intently at her, raising his eyebrows in a manner that she assumed was supposed to be enticing. She crossed her arms around her middle and tried to raise an eyebrow back, only succeeding in scrunching up her face. He gave her a weird look.

"You know," he continued, stepping towards her. "I'm having this party tonight. My parents are out of town and it's my friend Asmodeus' birthday." He grinned. "You interested?"

 _Asmodeus_? What kind of pretty rich boy was named _Asmodeus_?

Clarry bit her lip. "I'm not so sure…"

"It'll be fun!" he insisted. "And you can bring Isabelle Lightwood, even that nerdy looking guy if you want." He elbowed her gently in the side, like they were old pals and his inviting her to parties was a regular occurrence.

"His name is Simon," she said, voice steely and overly loud in the deserted classroom.

"My mistake," he said softly, stepping directly in front of her and placing a hand on her shoulder. "I guess I just don't know him all that well."

His eyes had grown darker and she was startled by how close he was to her face. She had to crane her neck up to look at him—considering the vast height difference—as she observed his almost blank countenance. It was like he didn't have any defining features, just smooth skin and a sharp bone structure, like a statue.

 _His clavicles aren't even that nice,_ Clary thought to herself. _What was I thinking?_

"Maybe we could all get to know one another better." He was leaning towards her, a hair's breadth from her lips and she was not about to let her first kiss just up and pass her by, as if she wasn't even a participating member.

Clary took several steps back. "I think we know each other just well enough, Sebastian," she said firmly.

He smiled crookedly, but she could see it wasn't sincere. "Perhaps you'll change your mind. Either way you can still come tonight." He smirked. "In more ways than one."

Ugh, _gross._

She did not want to spend her sixteenth birthday holed up at some party where the one person she knew was a jackass who seemed to only understand words that came from his own mouth. She had plans to spend the night at home with Simon, her mom, and Luke. They could order pizza and watch bad movies like they always—

"Party starts at 8:00," he stated, backpack slung over one shoulder, smiling the way she imagined a young Donald Trump would. "See you then."

And then he left, leaving her alone in a deserted classroom. Annoyed at having been held up from catching her usual bus, she made her way to her bus stop in a grumpy silence, pondering just what this type of party entailed. She wasn't exactly a frequenter of the boozy teen parties people like Sebastian often held, preferring to brush up on her watercolors or hold a Star Wars marathon with Simon. She'd only heard stories from Izzy about getting blackout drunk and waking up in the morning with half the Anastasia Beverly Hills Glow Kit on your face, wondering just who you had to make out with to become that shade of bronze.

However, she did feel bad for judging Sebastian so harshly. Afterall, she barely knew him and he'd invited her to his party. On the other hand, he'd been incredibly pushy, tried to kiss her, and it seemed more likely that the invitation was a ploy to get in her pants than an act of kindness. All the same, she'd only known him for a day. Maybe she had an eyelash on her cheek? Maybe she misread the situation. Maybe Sebastian Verlac wasn't that bad.

* * *

"A party? At Sebastian Verlac's? Clary, he's _the worst_."

"I got that much myself, thanks."

Clary and Simon were sitting in his band's newest practice spot, the basement of Luke's bookstore. They were huddled in a corner away from the rest of the band, most recently known as Afternoon Death Squadron, while Simon plucking absentmindedly at his bass while Izzy snarled at Alec over the phone, who had misplaced her handcrafted Italian leather riding crop.

"Than why did you agree in the first place?" Simon asked, strumming a cord on his bass and motioning to Kirk to adjust the dial on the amp.

"I didn't!" she exclaimed, annoyed that it had taken them this long to get here. "That's the whole point, he just said he'd 'see me at 8' and left."

Izzy shook her head, covering the mouth piece with one hand and muttered "Typical male" in Clary's direction. Her eyes furrowed and she snapped, "Stop laughing Jace, don't think I can't hear you—That thing was $180 and I expect to be reimbursed _in full_ —No, Alec, I won't accept Starbucks gift cards as payment—"

"So, easy fix," Simon said around the pick in his mouth. "We just don't go."

Clary stared hard at the floor. "I think we should," she said quietly.

Both Simon and Isabelle turned to stare at her, Isabelle muttering, "It better be in pristine condition the next time I see you or so help me you will never see the light of day again," into the receiver before hanging up.

Setting down her cellphone, she turned to Clary, her lips pulled up in a smirk. "So the clavicles really did do it for you, huh?"

"No!" Clary exclaimed, flushed. She'd forgotten about the incident in the hallway and her frantic attempt to dissuade Isabelle of her feelings for Jace. "No," she repeated, shaking her head. "He's a dick. He even tried to kiss me—"

" _He_ _what_?" Simon demanded, crossing his arms in a similar manner to Clary's eighty year old grandfather. Isabelle rolled her eyes.

"Well, I shut him down pretty quickly, but it was still gross," Clary explained, feeling bitter just remembering the incident. "And then he made some stupid sex joke and—I—I just—" She fumbled over the words in her mouth, trying to properly convey how she felt about Sebastian Verlac. "I don't like him," Clary finished with an angry huff.

Isabelle's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "Then why do you want to go to his party?"

"I don't want to go because it's _his_ party," Clary said, crossing her arms defensively. " I want to go because it's going to piss off my parents."

Jocelyn Fray and Valentine Morgenstern were not a great couple. In fact, they were Clary's role model of what a relationship should _not_ look like. Ever. Under any circumstances.

They brought out the worst in each other. For Clary, it was difficult to believe that they were ever married in the first place, what with the countless public fights they'd had. Clary remembered one particularly nasty one, a Fourth of July picnic culminating in plates flying through the air and Clary huddled up in a tree, carving a little flower into the wood while Jonathan sat at the base of the oak in a miserable silence.

It was for these reasons that they had been divorced since Clary was five. They shared custody, but Clary dreaded the time she was forced to spend in her father's apartment on the Upper East Side. He'd always preferred Jonathan, ever since they were little, and she suspected he resented her because her birth was the final straw that ended his marriage.

It just so happened that he'd decided now was the right time to sue Jocelyn—and Luke—for "emotional distress" and "alienation of affections." Luke, who Clary had more paternal affection for than the man providing half of her DNA, and Jocelyn had (finally) married last year, and Valentine found out for the first time through an offhand conversation between Jonathan and Clary.

What followed was a vicious lawsuit, still ongoing, in which Valentine accused Luke of "interfering in his marriage" and "seducing his wife." It made Clary want to gouge her eyes out with a spoon whenever either one of them brought it up.

In the midst of the legal battle, Jocelyn had bid Clary adieu at the door the morning of her sixteenth birthday with nothing but, "I'll be at the studio late tonight, so there's some chicken Parmesan in the fridge you can heat up" and a quick kiss to her forehead. Valentine had yet to call, and Luke, who left for work at the bookstore before Clary woke up, had been the only one out of the three to acknowledge the significance of the day, sending a text that read "Happy birthday Clary! C u at the bookstore! :)."

When she'd arrived home from school she'd hoped her mother would finally have come to her senses. Clary understood the stress she was under, but surely she could manage a text to her only daughter? That wasn't so hard.

Apparently, it was. Clary had yet to receive a call, a text, or even a singing email congratulating her for her birth. So, by the time she was sitting in Luke's bookstore (who had greeted her with balloons and slice of cake like any _quality_ parent upon her arrival), she was furious.

"So, let me get this straight," Simon said slowly, sharing a cautious glance with Isabelle. "This is like some twisted form of revenge?"

"It's not twisted!" Clary snapped. "I have a right to be upset."

"I don't know, Clary. Jocelyn has a lot on her plate right now—"

"I know that," she muttered. "I just—she forgot."

That was the truth of the matter, and it stung more than she cared to admit. She'd expected this from her father, but her mom? Jocelyn had been there for every birthday, snapping a pink paper birthday hat onto her head and telling her to make a wish while she blew out her candles. She didn't have time for Clary now.

"Then I guess this is going to be one hell of a party. Better than my own Bar Mitzvah if I have anything to say about it," Simon said, jumping up from his stool in determination, his bass swinging forward with his sudden movement. Clary didn't think that would be a difficult feat, considering his Bar Mitzvah had consisted of herself, Eric, Kirk, Matt, and a pessimistic clown who spent the duration of the party sobbing because his wife left him. Isabelle gave Simon a bemused sideways glance before he continued with a grin, adding, "Even if this guy is more of a douche than your dad." All three of them paused for a chuckle. That wasn't possible.

"Plus," Isabelle added, now filing her nails as she leaned against a storage shelf, "Jace will be there."

Clary's cheeks flamed, while Simon looked at Isabelle in confusion. "Why would that matter?" he asked, his mouth turning down in a frown.

"Because she's hot for him," Izzy said as if it was obvious.

"I am not hot for him!" Clary argued indignantly. "We merely exchanged a few words-"

"Looks like if you'd gotten any closer, you two would've been exchanging DNA," Izzy muttered.

"What now?" Simon asked, his frown only deepening as Izzy continued speaking.

Isabelle gave a sly smirk. "Our little Clary here participated in some sexy banter with Jace this morning."

Clary's entire face now matched her hair, "He bumped into me!"

Simon's brows furrowed. "I thought you hated him. You helped me put unicorn stickers all over his locker in 8th grade."

"Simon—" Clary began, only to be interrupted by Izzy.

"Please," she gave a delicate little chortle before dropping her nail file into her purse. "She's just trying to hide her infatuation. She's been aroused by him since we were thirteen."

Simon wrinkled his nose as Clary said, "Ew, Izzy, don't say aroused."

Izzy merely resumed twisting a black strand of hair around her finger. "I'm only speaking the truth. He gets your panties in a twist."

"Stop."

"You're nethers all hot and achy."

"Oh my God."

"You want his hot, pulsing—"

"Jesus Christ, Izzy!" Clary was blushing so hard she felt like she was on fire. "He's your cousin, doesn't it bother you to say that stuff?"

She shrugged.

"Who hurt you?" asked a repulsed Simon, his face now matching the shade of green on the bathroom walls of the Institute.

Isabelle yawned, her mouth forming a perfect O. "I've got to go see the damage Alec's done to that beautifully braided black leather riding crop. He thought it was a spatula." She rolled her eyes and shot Clary's a look. "Men. Am I right?"

Clary wasn't quite sure what that meant, but she nodded.

"Anywho," continued Izzy, nonplussed. "Text me what the plans are for the party." She sashayed towards basement door. "See ya."

Simon's gaze lingered after her, his eyes following her until the door shut. He still looked angry, Clary noticed, face slightly red and dark brows furrowed into the rims of his glasses.

There was a heavy feeling in her gut, one that vaguely resembled guilt.

"She's just joking."

Simon snorted, avoiding her gaze. "You didn't look like you were laughing" he said dryly.

"That's because she's wrong! I'm not even—I am so uninterested—you think me? And him? Psh—that is so off the mark—He is a _jerk._ "

Simon looked at her doubtfully. "Whether she was joking or not," he said, leaning against the same wall Izzy had earlier, "He's not a nice guy. In fact, he's the opposite of a nice guy. He's one of those guys who takes his daddy issues and built up anger out on other people—"

"That's unnecessary, Simon. You're lucky Izzy didn't hear you say that."

Isabelle and Alec had always been fiercely protective of Jace, and he just as protective of them. Everyone knew Jace's parents were gone, just not what exactly that meant. He'd lived with the Lightwoods for as long as Clary had known them, and Isabelle was rather tight lipped about his background.

Simon looked apologetic. "Still, he's not one of the good ones, Clary. I hope you know what you're getting into."

"I'm not getting into anything," said Clary indignantly. "I don't like him. He's a self-righteous dickhead and I meant every word I said about locking him in a Honey Bucket and rolling it down a hill. I mean…" She paused and bit her lip. Simon looked at her questioningly. "I'm definitely not a fan the whole 'golden asshat' vibe he's got going."

Simon only quirked an eyebrow (why could everyone do that but her?) before glancing briefly at Eric, Matt, and Kirk, who had started practicing without Simon. Clary felt guilty having forgotten about them.

"I'm just reminding you why you're not. He still calls Eric 'the little drummer boy' every time he sees him."

"I know," Clary insisted. "He's a douche and I'm not interested, trust me."

And maybe if the image of Jace Herondale smiling at her hadn't kept popping into her head all day, she might have believed it.

* * *

Author's Note: Inspiration for Ms. Graymark comes from Luke and Amatis' mom, Sister Cleophas, who is an Iron Sister. Also, isn't Sebastian just the worst?


End file.
